


What's In A Name?

by Grundy



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Almost Fluff, Gen, Years of the Trees, baby celebrimbor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 06:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21453583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: Curufin holds his newborn son - and names him. Originally written for Fëanorian Week 2018.
Relationships: Curufin | Curufinwë/Curufin's Wife
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52





	What's In A Name?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm discovering I've apparently been lax about cross-posting fic from Tumblr to AO3!

He’d been looking forward to this moment for a year now – well, longer really, but that had been in the _abstract_ sense of a hope, not in the certainty that it would happen – and now that it has finally come, Curufinwë felt like his heart might burst from the incandescent joy of it.

His son.

He was holding _his son_.

The baby was absolutely perfect in every respect, down to the tiny nails at the end of each delicate finger and toe.

For the first time since they were wed, Tyelpesilmë’s regard felt pale and distant compared to the urgent immediacy of the incredible little being in his arms, blinking back at him with the not-quite-focused eyes of the newly born.

It is only after several minutes – though they might well be hours or possibly even days, he knew himself prone to lose track of time when absorbed in anything, and he’s never been so wholly absorbed in anything else in his entire life – that it occurred to him that he’s responsible not only for nurturing, protecting, and loving this child.

He has to _name_ his son.

It’s not something he’s given much thought to before, but now that he did, his stomach is tying itself into knots.

He’d been intensely proud as a child to be the son Fëanaro bestowed his own father-name upon. It was only as he grew that he began to see that wasn’t always such a wonderful thing. With a name like _Curufinwë_, much was expected of him – by his father not the least.

Sometimes he’d basked in that, but more often, it had been a weight. If he lived up to expectations, well, they’d expected it of him, hadn’t they? If he failed to match his father, though, it was worse – the whispers, the sympathy (both real and feigned), and the disappointment. Not to mention, Finwë’s eldest son excelled at so much that it was difficult to find something he’d not tried his hand at, something Curufinwë could call his own.

As such, passing the name on to a child was absolutely out of the question. Two Curufinwës was already more than enough. Come to that, he didn’t much care to bestow a -finwë name either, even if it would probably generate immense satisfaction or amusement in various quarters if Fëanaro’s favorite son contradicted his naming of the twins.

“What, my silver-tongued husband for once without words?” Silmë asked.

Though her words were playful, there was a thread of mingled pride and love in her spirit as she cast her mind toward his.

_I think we have made something even your father cannot find fault with_, she added.

His father had better _not_ find fault with their son!

“What are you going to call him?”

Curufinwë blinked. He had been hoping to have a bit more time before anyone asked, to think, to choose something exactly _right_, and above all, something all the child’s own.

He had the sudden conviction that _his_ son will not be one of a row of anything, be it -finwës, -kanos, or -aratos. It’s one thing to have a theme, it’s another to recycle elements for every child, as if they don’t each deserve consideration of their own.

As one of the first in his generation to beget a child – he’s still not quite sure how Angarato had beaten his older brothers and cousins to the punch – he had the happy opportunity to set a new trend in the family – to give each child he begets a unique name, one that will be entirely theirs to shape.

But he could not take too much time over the decision. It was not unusual for a mother-name to be given years after the birth, unless the mother had a glimpse of foresight at the time the child came into the light.

He gazed down at his son, now reaching enthusiastically for Silmë’s hair. The child caught a handful of her long silver tresses, and then gazed in perplexity from one hand to the other, bemused by the difference. It was clear, however, which he preferred…

“Tyelperinquar.”

_The silver-fist_. _As a hope that he will find joy in the craft as we do, and as a reminder that you are dear to us both._

He thinks the name fits, and their son smiles as they both call him by it.


End file.
